The Whistler.
Presented by the United States Air Forces in Europe.
The Whistler.
I am the Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night.
I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows.
Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.
The Whistler.
The Whistler of Western Defense.
And now, The Whistler's strange story. Generous Hosts.
The evening shadows were lengthening as Steve Neal's jalopy coasted to the curb and came to a stop in a quiet, outlying district of Silverton.
His eyes surveyed the high walls surrounding the Jameson estate, as he wondered if the stories about the eccentric Gerald Jameson, the millionaire ex-Silverminer who lived in this huge mansion, were true.
Rather interesting stories, too, aren't they, Steve?
Suddenly, in the shadows across the street, you see an elderly gentleman facing you with hands high in the air, and a short masked man holding a gun on him and rapidly going through his pockets.
You jump from your car and race toward the two men.
Hey, hey you! What are you trying to pull? Put down that gun!
The highwayman whirled as you near, hesitated a moment, and then started running.
Hey you, stop!
You follow, and he turns and then fires.
Just over your head, you jump behind a small tree as the man turns and runs rapidly away.
Then you walk back to the elderly gentleman.
Are you, you all right, sir?
Yes, thanks to you, young man. Thank you very much.
Oh, sorry, I couldn't catch you. I'm glad you came along just when you did.
Oh, well, I didn't.
The man was angry because I had no money with me. Why?
He didn't take anything.
Only a few dollars. Didn't have much with me.
Oh, I was lucky for you.
Yes, he was. Young man. Mr.
Neil. Steve Neil. Traveling artist.
Oh, well, Mr. Neil, more than glad to meet you. Jameson's my name.
Jameson?
Yes, I was just taking an evening stroll. I live here in the house behind these walls.
Oh, well, joining me in a drink. I can use one.
Well, if you...
No ifs about it, young man. I insist. Come along inside.
You are soon seated in the large library of the Jameson Mansion Archers, Steve.
Listening to Gerald Jameson praises of your heroic rescue,
as the very sincerely concerned servant, Henry, brings you a drink,
your eyes survey the luxurious surroundings,
and you smile to yourself as you realize the possibilities of your new position.
You, um, introduced yourself as a traveling artist, Mr. Neil.
What did you mean by that?
Well, I just decided to see the world, Mr. Jameson.
Rigged up my jalopy and set out to paint my way around the U.S.
Portraits, landscapes, anything. Anything that sells.
Hmm. Well, I owe you a lot for what you did a few minutes ago.
Oh, not at all. I'm glad I happened along when I did.
Then perhaps you'll honor me by painting something for me.
Well, since you put it that way, sir.
Of course. Consider yourself spoken for for, let's say, two landscapes and, well, one portrait.
Well, you may not like my work. You better check for me.
I like you, young man, and I know your work will be good.
Shall we seal the deal at, uh, what is your price?
Oh, not so good lately. Last one sold for fifty.
Would, uh, six hundred be satirically for the three?
Six hundred.
And room and board while you're working. We have ample room here.
Oh, this is my lucky day. Sure, sure, it's a deal.
And just when I didn't know where my next meal was coming from, as the saying goes.
And then on back, Steve. For a few weeks at least, you know where every meal is coming from.
Your quick, daring action on Mr. Jamison's behalf solved all your problems, didn't it, Steve?
At least temporarily. You decide to take your time on your painting assignment.
And as the days pass, you hear some interesting stories about Mr. Jamison,
especially the ones concerning his habit of keeping large amounts of cash in his safe at home.
You decide your opportunities are greater than you realize,
and you make it a point whenever possible to watch Mr. Jamison or his trusted servant Henry
open the safe in the library where your easel faces the wide French windows.
After a couple of weeks, you're certain you have the combination.
But you're in no hurry, are you?
No, you plan to continue your work. Wait for the ideal moment.
Then one afternoon, as you're putting the finishing touches on your second painting,
Mr. Jamison stands and surveys it approvingly.
I hope you're as good at portraits as you are at these other things.
Portraits?
Yes. You see, I had it in mind to have you do a portrait of my niece.
Your niece?
My sister's girl, Ruth Royce. She's arriving by train tonight.
Twenty-four years old, quite beautiful.
Well, if she's coming tonight, I'd better doll up a little for a change, huh?
You look okay, except for saving a haircut.
Oh, I'll get a haircut this afternoon.
Ruth! Ruth, here we are, over here!
Uncle Jerry, you look wonderful!
You too. You're more beautiful than ever.
Ruth, this is Steve, the Steve Neal I wrote you about.
Hello, Steve.
Nice meeting you, Ruth.
Well, what do you think of your portrait so far, Ruth?
I like it.
So far?
Just reflecting a charming subject, that's all.
Oh, thank you, sir.
Oh, Mr. Steve, there's a telephone call for you.
Oh, for me?
Yes, sir. Didn't give his name, though.
Oh, thanks, Henry.
Telephone's always interfering with pleasant moments.
Oh, go away, Ruth. I'll be right back.
Hello.
Hello, Steve.
Yes, who's this?
Frankie.
I told you not to call me here. You've been paid.
Yeah, but not enough, Steve.
I gave you what you asked for. We're finished.
That's what you think, Steve.
Oh, what happened if old man Jameson found out we framed that phony holdup you rescued him from?
I could tell him all about that, Steve, and some other things, too.
You'd better reconsider, friend, and fast. My bankroll's getting low. Real low.
The unexpected phone call from Frankie Bixdon is more than disturbing, isn't it, Steve?
As a guest in the Jameson home, you've not only learned enough about his habits to help yourself to the contents of his safe
and make a getaway into Mexico whenever you decide the time is right.
You've also found what you think might be the answer to your financial problems for the rest of your life.
In the person of Jameson's only living relative and heir, his attractive niece, Ruth Royce.
But winning her affections will take time, won't it, Steve?
Ruth is an intelligent girl and fully aware that you have nothing to offer her other than yourself.
Yes, you'll need time, and Frankie is a dangerous threat to such time, isn't he?
You decide you've got to find a way to get rid of him once and for all.
Meantime, you decide to see more of Ruth. You're certain she finds you attractive,
and one evening in a quiet little cocktail lounge on the outskirts of town, you make your first move.
Well, now that your portrait's about finished, it won't be long until I'll be on my way.
Gonna miss me, Ruth?
Probably.
It's more than probably with me. I'm gonna miss you plenty.
Really, Steve?
Really. Hey, excuse me, sir.
Yeah, what is it, Winner?
I'm sorry to interrupt, but a gentleman asked me to tell you he'd like to see you for a few minutes privately.
Me? You must be mistaken.
I don't think so. He pointed you out. The name is Neil, isn't it?
Oh, yes, sir. Well, tell him I'll see him some other time.
He says it's very important to you, sir.
Oh, all right. I'll see him. Excuse me a couple minutes, will you, Ruth?
Of course.
This way, sir.
There's the gentleman.
Thank you.
Frankie. You fool.
What's the idea of trying to see me here? Mr. Jamieson's niece is with me.
Yeah, I know. So if I were you, I'd quiet down and get this over with quick.
Okay. Make it snappy, will you?
Sure, I'll make it real snappy. I need some dough.
So do I. Jamieson's only paid me for one painting.
Half of that'll do for now.
You're out of your mind.
I guess I'd better see Mr. Jamieson.
Okay. Okay, Frankie. I guess you win.
Will a hundred hold you for a while?
A little while. Say, will you get paid for another painting?
Well, it might be tomorrow. It might be next week.
Next Monday'll be fine. Let's say a hundred then and a hundred the following week, okay?
I guess it has to be.
How long do you expect this blackmail to keep paying off?
Not too long. Just till you're all finished with Jamieson and his niece.
Incidentally, you'd better be getting back to her, hadn't you?
Oh, yeah. Yeah, I guess I have.
Wait a minute. See you Monday night, ten o'clock. Here.
Sorry, Ruth.
That's all right. Business?
Yes, sir. That fellow heard about my painting and made me a pretty fair proposition.
I guess I gotta think it over, though.
That's always a good idea.
Look, Ruth, how about getting out of here, huh?
I can't even build up to a romantic conversation without a wait-up button in it
telling me some guy wants to talk to me.
All right, Steve. Anywhere you say.
Well, I thought we might drive out to the lake.
Kind of like to finish that conversation we were having when that waiter interrupted us.
I would, too, Steve.
This is a lovely spot for a talk, Steve.
Beautiful moon, rippling water, everything.
You were saying something about if you'd met me under different circumstances.
Yeah.
What did you mean by that?
Well, I just meant that if I'd met you and I didn't know anything about you
before I knew your uncle was a rich man,
you might believe me if I told you how I felt about you.
If I were to tell you now, you'd just think I was an adventurer after your money.
And you wouldn't be.
Oh, in my present situation, I wouldn't expect you to believe that.
There's more to it than your present situation.
Steve, there's something strange about you, something that doesn't quite ring true.
What do you mean by that?
Well, those phone calls you get every now and then, for instance,
and refusing to answer them in a town where you're supposed to be a stranger.
And tonight when you came back to our booth from your business conference,
you looked worried, almost frightened.
Oh, well, you just imagine that.
I was just thinking, that's all.
And as far as those phone calls are concerned, I can explain them too.
They're just someone I met here in town that I didn't want to talk to.
You'd laugh if you knew why.
I hope so, Steve. I truly hope so.
You mean I've got a chance?
You know you have, or you wouldn't have even brought it up.
All I want to know is that you're on the level.
What do I have to do to convince you?
Oh, that's your problem.
But if you really feel about me as you say you do, it shouldn't be very difficult.
It'll be easy, honey.
Here I am, you'll just look at me.
But it won't be easy, will it, Steve?
No, it'll be almost impossible.
And you wonder whether Ruth is worth the effort.
That night you lie awake thinking about it.
You decide your first problem is Frankie.
But the next morning it suddenly hits you the perfect solution,
a solution that will give you time to decide exactly how to make your opportunity with the Jamiesons pay off,
and the additional time to carry out your plan.
The following Monday evening at ten o'clock, you're sitting opposite Frankie in the cocktail lounge where he asked you to meet him.
You got my hundred?
No. Jamieson hasn't paid me for any more pictures.
Don't try to hand me that.
I'm not handing you anything.
Anyway, I've figured out a deal that'll make these hundred dollar shakedowns of yours look like chicken feet.
We can both get enough out of it to go to South America and retire for a couple of years.
Where's the catch?
No catch.
Now look, Frankie, Jamieson keeps some twenty to fifty thousand dollars in his library safe all the time.
What about it?
I know the combination.
Oh yeah? What else do you know?
There's French windows in that library. I can unlock them for you, give you the safe combination.
It'll just be a robbery by a person or persons unknown.
Maybe. What about the split?
Fifty-fifty. You can mail my half to a guy named Joe Wells, care of the Mid-City Hotel, Bay City, that's me.
Market hold till arrival.
I don't want any part of that dough near me till the heat's off.
Probably frisk me, turn everything I got inside out.
Someday next week when things are cool and awful, I'll drive over, pick up the dough, and part it out of here.
You figured things are okay.
Except one.
What's that?
I don't get this big trust in me.
Suppose I go for this setup.
It wants to stop me from grabbing the dough and running out on you.
In that case, it won't be a robbery by persons unknown.
It'll be a robbery by Frankie Bickston.
And I gotta hunch the cops will find you real quick, with a little help from me.
Yeah, I guess that adds up.
When do you figure on pulling this off?
Tomorrow night? Eleven o'clock, right on the dot.
Mr. Jameson, Henry, and I'll be playing billiards upstairs in the billiard room.
Rove will be in bed. She's getting up at five the next morning to go horseback riding.
You can't miss.
Eh, guess it's worth a chance.
Now lay it out for me, huh?
Okay. I'll lay it out step by step.
Now look.
Well, nice shot, Henry.
Did you just luck, sir?
Luck nothing. You had a leg cue like a professional.
Another. I see what you mean.
Wait a minute. Quiet, everybody.
What's wrong, Steve?
I think I heard somebody in the library.
I didn't hear anything.
Neither did I, Mr. Steve. It must be your imagination.
No, I don't think so. Anyway, I think I'd better investigate.
Do you have a revolver, Mr. Jameson?
Yes, in the top drawer of the dresser in my bedroom.
Good. I'll get your gun and sneak downstairs.
Now you and Henry keep right on playing billiards as though nothing had happened.
If anyone is down there, I...
No, just a minute, Steve. That's dangerous.
Don't worry. I'll be careful. And keep the game going. Go ahead.
Okay, Frankie. Keep quiet and keep your hands where I can see them.
Steve, that's right.
How much did you get?
Around 20 grand, I think.
What's the idea?
I'll pull that plant out of that pot there by the roots and all you have to do is lift it.
I loosened the dirt and it wet it down an hour ago.
Wait a minute.
All right, now come on, move. I can let you have it and you'll be another dead burglar.
Double cross, huh?
I said move.
Okay.
Now, out those French windows, Frankie.
Look, Steve.
Come on, get going.
Hey, you! You, you, stop! Stop or I'll shoot!
Steve, Steve, what happened? Are you hurt?
I'm sorry, Mr. Jameson, but he got away.
Well, you did your best, Steve, and I won't forget.
Well, thank you, sir.
You'd better phone the sheriff while I examine the safe and see what's missing.
When the sheriff and his deputies arrive, you spend some anxious moments as they question you and examine the premises.
But everything worked out exactly as you planned.
You breathe a sigh of relief when they ignore the wet flower pot and leave.
You're sure that by morning no one can tell the plant was tampered with.
By one o'clock you've retired for the night, but you're worried in a little frighten-ot you, Steve.
You know that Frankie knows you tried to kill him, and you know that he'll be around again and soon.
You decide to stay close to the estate until you're ready to take the stolen money, forget about Ruth, and leave Silverton.
A few days later.
That about does it, Mr. Jameson. I can't polish it anymore.
The portrait's excellent, Steve. You have real talent.
I'm glad you like it, Mr. Jameson.
What about you, Ruth? Satisfied?
Yes, I like it.
Well, then I do, too.
Now I guess it's goodbye.
Goodbye?
Goodbye.
I'm afraid so. My work's done. It's time for me to move on.
What? There's no hurry.
Afraid there is, sir.
See, I've been offered a job on the coast as a commercial artist, and I've decided to take it.
I'll be leaving the day after tomorrow.
Just before dinner that evening, Mr. Jameson calls you aside, and as a reward for your bravery,
tries to persuade you to accept an additional $500 for the paintings you've completed.
When you decline, you're certain from the expression on his face that he's pleased with your decision.
Jameson treats you almost like a son, doesn't he, Steve?
You spend most of the next day in your room, ostensibly writing letters and packing your few belongings.
That evening after dinner, you chat pleasantly with Jameson and Ruth until nearly midnight.
When they finally decide to retire, you tell them you're going to enjoy a midnight snack and then check your car.
As soon as you're sure they're asleep, you go into the library, remove the stolen money from the flower pot,
go outside to the garage and stuff the bills under the cover of the driver's seat.
Then as you turn around, go in some way, Steve.
Frankie.
Yeah. You're not such a good shot.
Well, I was just putting on an act, you know that.
Your act was too good this time. You were trying to knock me off.
Oh, no, no, you're all wrong, Frankie.
I've been waiting to get you, Steve. And this is it.
As Frankie starts towards you, you see a knife blade flash in the moonlight.
You're standing with a car door open and your hand closes around a wrench in the front seat.
You lunge directly toward Frankie and your surprise attack throws him off balance.
As he stumbles, you strike him on the head and watch him fall forward.
Lie still.
After what seems hours, you realize he's dead.
For a moment, you're panicking and then relieved to know he's permanently out of the way.
Quickly, you open the trunk lid of your car and place his body inside.
Then lean against the car and light a cigarette.
Who's that? Who's there?
It's me, Steve. Who?
What are you doing here?
I couldn't sleep. I thought I might take a little drive.
Oh, I couldn't sleep either.
Steve.
Yes?
I'm kind of glad you're out here.
I wanted you to know something before you left.
I think you're on the level.
Ruth, you mean it?
I mean it.
Well, thanks, Ruth.
That's all I can say right now. Just thanks.
You still want to leave? Take that job on the coast?
I have to, Ruth. But I'll be back, honey. Soon.
Well, Steve, your mission in Silverton is accomplished, isn't it?
You have $20,000 under the seat covers of your car.
And when that's spent, you're certain you can come back and marry Ruth Royce,
the niece and only relative of your wealthy benefactor, Gerald Jamieson.
And even though the body of the man you killed, Frankie Bixdon, is in the trunk of your car,
you're not worried, are you, Steve?
No, you're certain that once you're on your way,
you can find a lonely stretch of road where you can easily dispose of this important link
to your part in the successful robbery of the Jamieson safe.
Next morning, after a lengthy breakfast, Mr. Jamieson and Ruth accompany you out the front door
and around the house to the drive.
Well, who does this belong to?
You, Steve. It's all yours, fully equipped.
When you refused to allow me to pay you what I thought your paintings were worth,
I decided to make it up to you in some other way.
The surprise part was Ruth's idea.
Certainly a surprise, all right.
As soon as you sign these transfer papers, it'll be all yours.
You like it, don't you, Steve?
Oh, sure, sure. But what about my old jalopy?
Where is it?
Mr. Burke drove it back to the garage when he delivered this new station wagon for you early this morning.
Oh, of course. It was locked. I still have the keys.
Henry had an extra key made when you let him drive your old car into town yesterday.
Well, what's the matter, Steve? You look so strange.
Oh, nothing, nothing, except getting a new station wagon. It was quite a shock.
Besides, I had so much personal stuff in that old jalopy of mine,
I think I'd better check on it before I leave. Where is it?
At the Main Street Garage.
But it looks like it won't be necessary for you to go after it, Steve.
It's turning into the drive right now.
And Sheriff Wilson is driving.
Now, what do you suppose the sheriff's doing in that old jalopy of yours, Steve?
The Whistler.
Listen next week when once again the United States Air Forces in Europe present The Whistler.
The Whistler has come to you through the worldwide facilities.